A Thing of Beauty
by The Second Coming
Summary: One-Shot James walks in on the most spectacular bit of havoc ever to have been wrought within the walls of Hogwarts, and he didn't have a thing to do with it it. A touch of James/Lily, if you squint.


**Title**: A Thing of Beauty

**Rating**: G. Unless you've got a fear of pancakes.

**Warnings**: Flying pancakes. Other than that it's pretty harmless.

**Notes**: So I got bored one day, _ages_ ago and wrote up a bunch of prompts to store away for a rainy day. I've been meaning to get around to them for quite a while, so I _finally_ get to scratch one off the list. This was actually one of the _sanest_ prompts on the list (which also includes a list of crack!pairings).

—

_This has to be a nightmare_, he thought wildly, staring up at the ceiling in horror as it changed from purple polka-dots to a terrifying mauve and green fractal pattern. _This can't be happening_, he said to himself as jars of maple syrup chased themselves up the length of the tables, a battalion of forks charged the knives and pancakes flew across the room like demented flying saucers. Not, of course, that James Potter knew what a flying saucer was. When Lily had used the term last week he'd made note of it, (he made note of most things Lily said — and then promptly disregarded the things that he didn't want to hear), he'd pictured actual saucers flying about. He figured that the image suited this well enough.

"James Potter!"

For one horrible, _terrifying, _moment he'd thought his mother was at Hogwarts. Instead he was met with the full wrath of Lily Evans. In a way, he mused, this was almost worse. At least he never wanted to kiss his mother senseless when _she_ yelled at him.

"What have you _done_?" the object of his affections screeched. Loudly.

"Nothing," he said. Which, of course, brought him straight back to his original problem. This was the most chaos and pandemonium he'd ever seen in one place in his _entire_ life, and _he hadn't caused it_. It was official, the world was obviously coming to an end.

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "What do you mean 'nothing'?"

"I mean nothing," said James flatly. "Not a thing. Not one tiny thing. Not one tiny, itty-bitty, floating pancake, Evans."

"You don't honestly expect me to believe that, do you?" she asked flatly, watching his face intently for a reaction.

"Look," said James. "I'd _like_ to say I did it. Really." He ignored the disbelieving snort from the the red-haired Gryffindor prefect. "But I didn't do _anything_."

"But," she said, slightly less assuredly than before. "It _has_ to be you. Nobody else would be this, this —"

"Clever?" James supplied helpfully.

She glared at him. "Puerile."

"Ah, Evans," he said grinning, ruffling his hair and flashing his customary grin at her. "You just don't appreciate it."

She rolled her eyes and gestured to the complete chaos behind her. "Of _course _I don't appreciate it! How could I possibly appreciate this?"

"It's a thing of beauty, Evans." He paused and looked meaningfully over her body. "Nothing compared to you, of course." She looked like she was about to slap him, so he decided to hurry up and move on. "You have no idea how difficult it is to get this many spells functioning simultaneously, and to get the timing just right to create the maximum amount of chaos. It's an _art form_, Evans."

She stared at him in confusion, disbelieve and a touch of disgust. "You are such an idiot, Potter."

"Don't say things you don't mean, Evans."

"I do —"

"Shh!" James hushed her with an over-dramatised gesture and grinned. Leaning forward he whispered conspiratorially to her, "try and enjoy it, for once. Just _watch_." Then he sauntered off cheerfully, snatching a pancake out of the air on his way out.

She glared at his retreating back, barely refraining from tossing a syrup bottle at the back of his head. He was such an insufferable, stuck-up, _jerk_. She looked around the room, nearly wincing as she saw the terrible mess that had been created. It was going to take _ages_ to sort this out.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw a Hufflepuff first year running in terror from an angry looking pancake, which seemed to be chasing after him. She blinked. Pulling out her wand, she walked over to the first year, intent on saving him from the menacing breakfast food. With a seemingly casual flick of her wand she immobilised the pancake, and sent the traumatised first-year on his way. It was a bit funny, she thought. I mean, where else would you ever find floating foodstuffs chasing terrified children? Of course, terrifying the children was an awful thing to do. Although, being terrified of a pancake really didn't say much for the kid. A pancake, she figured, wasn't a particularly menacing foodstuff. Even if it was floating. She grinned. Halfway across the room an army of spoons were climbing up the pant-legs of the Slytherin fifth-years.

Her lip twitched, and she bit down on it hard. She was not going to laugh. She was _not_ going to laugh. A pancake wafted by lazily, and she burst out into hysterics.


End file.
